


Saving the Guilty

by Masu_Trout



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Feelings for the Enemy, Friends to Enemies, Implied Past Reaper/Soldier 76, Male-Female Friendship, Medical Procedures, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: Gérard's wife's turned traitor, the rumors had gone, as if Gérard's wife was all that she'd been.
Angela tries to believe there's still some good left in Amélie, and very nearly gets shot for her trouble.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vaultfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultfox/gifts).



Angela was digging a bullet out of the meat of Jack's shoulder and trying not to scream.

She'd known, of course. She'd first heard the rumors after Ana's death—or 'death', as it were—and they had only grown as Overwatch crumbled. A sniper with deadly accuracy, a woman with unnatural skin and a terrifying smile. A new foe for them all to fear, even while their organization fell apart around them.

( _Gérard's wife turned traitor_ , they whispered, as if _Gérard's wife_ was all that she'd been. As if she hadn't fought just as hard for Overwatch as the rest of them, as if she hadn't poured sweat and blood and tears into the cause. As if she hadn't been Angela's—

Angela's _friend_. They were friends, back before that nightmare, and if Angela had pretended there could ever be anything more it was only because she'd been entirely too foolish in those days.)

Lena had taken her aside and warned her after Winston recalled them all, quick words bitten out from between her lips with none of her usual bravado or cheer. _Angela, I saw her. She was the one who shot Mondatta._ She paused for a moment, then laid one hand on Angela's arm and added: _Just be careful, okay? She isn't the same person we knew._

Angela's first, uncharitable thought was to snap _Why are you telling me this?_ , but she'd managed to hold her tongue just in time. Lena had always been an observant woman. Angela knew exactly why she was the one being warned, rather than Winston or Jack or Reinhardt.

If there was anyone desperate enough to believe Amélie could be fixed, it was her. 

Up until a few hours ago, she'd still half-believed it. Oh, she never would have _said_ as much, of course, not when their safehouses and allies were being attacked with deadly precision every time they so much as turned their backs, but some part of her had assumed—

Amélie would see her. She would remember the missions they'd spent together, the countries they'd flown to, the things they'd seen. Maybe she'd think back to the time that diplomat's plane had crashed deep in Omnic territory, Amélie on board, and Angela had been the first one to find them.

She wouldn't repent on the spot, wouldn't come bounding back to the side of good like a lost lamb; not even Angela was _that_ naive. But Amélie would pause for a moment, perhaps, lift the rifle from her shoulder to give Angela one of those soft little teasing smiles before stepping back to disappear into the darkness.

It would be something. It would be a start.

Instead, she'd taken advantage of Angela's confusion and idiotic hope to line up a perfect shot to the back of Jack's head. It was only his soldier's reflexes (and his years of built-up paranoia) that had saved him. Anyone else would have taken the bullet square and died for it.

Mercy, the great defender, hadn't done a single thing.

“I'm sorry,” she said again as the forceps she held brushed a sensitive point. Normally she would never attempt to pry a bullet loose, not when it was far safer to simply turn the Caduceus staff on the entry wound for a moment or two and seal the damage around it. But with Amélie's— _Widowmaker's_ —reported habit of poisoning her weapons, she couldn't take any chances. 

Jack only grunted, knuckles clenched white around the edge of the operating table. The man had never once willingly accepted anesthetic for as long as she'd known him. “It's fine,” he added after a moment, and then, “not your fault.”

“I froze on the battlefield.” Her words came out clipped. Her hands were starting to shake. Angela took a steadying breath and continued on. “I saw her preparing to attack and I didn't urge you to take cover.”

He snorted, as if she were saying something incredibly foolish instead of the simple truth. “You didn't make her what she is now. You didn't force her to fire.” 

At that, Angela very nearly burst into laughter. A whole _one_ trusted-Overwatch-ally-turned-merciless-monster who wasn't the result of her experiments in twisting the laws of nature! What an amazing track record for the illustrious Doctor Ziegler! Overwatch truly had been right to recruit her.

Jack was lying on the table, very carefully staring at the wall and not looking in her direction, but there was something soft in his voice when he spoke. “It isn't wrong to trust someone you care about. Just because…” He swallowed, the sound thick in the quiet room. “Just because they didn't end up deserving that trust doesn't mean it was the wrong decision.”

 _Now who are we talking about, Jack?_ Angela thought but didn't say. It wasn't her right to question him about that, not when she'd played such a large role in the making of Reaper. And anyway, she and Jack knew each other too well; they could be here all day if they decided to start picking at each other's old wounds.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “I am not sure I can believe you, but… thank you nonetheless.”

Jack snorted. “Sometimes we old veterans do know what we're talking about, you know.”

“Mm.” Mercy smiled, though he couldn't see her. “Well, I think I'd prefer to listen to a soldier who _doesn't_ show blatant disregard for even the most basic of medical advice.” She gazed off into the empty air, pretending to think. “Perhaps I will ask Reinhardt for some life lessons. He's always so grateful when I heal him.”

Jack's raspy voice dipped lower in a rough imitation of Reinhardt's. “ _Mercy. If you have a problem, hit it with a hammer._ ”

“Ah, thank you, Jack. That is _wonderful_ advice.” He turned around to glower at her—a rare look these days, with his visor so often in the way—and she gave him a light poke on the back in retaliation. “Honestly now. Turn around and stop talking so I can get this unsightly thing out of you.”

“Yes, doctor,” Jack said, his voice dripping with insincerity. 

“Music to my ears.” 

Angela leaned back over the bullet, easing it out of the cavity millimeter by millimeter. The work was every bit as slow as it had been before, but her mind felt clearer now.

Jack could say all he liked about trust and forgiveness. (It was rather heartening, actually, to see some of that old Overwatch optimism slipping through.) The simple fact, though, was that he'd nearly taken a bullet to the head because of her moment of weakness; she'd hesitated to take action against a harmful agent and now her patient was paying the price.

A prickling warmth gathered at the corners of her eyes. Angela blinked it away.

Amélie was dead. There could be no question about that anymore. The assassin who called herself Widowmaker was nothing more than a cheap impostor, a cold pale imitation of the most _alive_ woman Angela had ever known.

(The woman Angela had loved. She could finally admit it to herself now that it was too late to make any difference. The ache in her chest when she thought of Amélie could be nothing less.)

When Angela next met Widowmaker on the battlefield, she would show her no mercy.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this a lot, and I hope you enjoyed it, vaultfox!


End file.
